“I learned on the morrow, that my beautiful hair had turned white; not one thread of my deep brown tresses was left, and my features too, were shrunken. That night's vision had done the work of years of suffering, and Sibyl Warner, the belle, the heiress, was no longer an object of love.
“A physician was summoned the next morning, who pronounced me suffering under mental hallucination, for I had told my mother all my strange dream or vision. I had no way to prove that my lover was treacherous, and I alone must suffer. But Laura. What was my duty towards her? was my dominant thought, even while I sat writing, a day or two after, a note to Milan, releasing him from his engagement. Vainly my mother entreated me to see him just once more. I was inexorable, and there being nothing now to bind us to Europe, we made all possible haste to return to our native land.
“Laura came to bid me good-bye. I tried to speak my fears to her, but my tongue seemed paralyzed. I kissed her warmly, and the tears flowed over her pale, lovely face. We parted. I knew she would be his bride ere long. I hoped she would be happy; but the revelation of that night led me to fear that such might not be the case.
“The first week of our voyage home was very pleasant, but soon after, a gale arose, and then a fearful storm set in. After being tossed by wind and wave five days, our ship went down. O, that morning so vividly present to my memory now. My parents were both lost. I was saved with a few of the passengers, and most of the ship's crew,—a vessel bound to my own native port, took us on board. But what was life to me then, alone, and unloved as I must ever after be.'
“It was not the Sibyl Warner who stepped on shore the day of our arrival who had left it years before; not the young girl of seventeen, but a woman, with love, trust, hope, all departed-a wreck of her former self, and yet within, a strange light glittering. As one sees, hung over dangerous, impassable ways at night, or half sunken rocks, a light telling of danger, so I had thrown over my entire being a blaze of fire, which, while it guided others, seemed to be consuming myself. I possessed what is now called 'second sight,' and could see the motives of persons, and their most secret thoughts and designs. Life became burdensome because I could not balance the power with any joy, until I learned that I must live for others and not for myself, alone.
“My father's estate was settled at last, and I had means enough to live in luxury and ease the rest of my days; but a strange inward prompting continually urged me to give up my former mode of living. I disposed of my property, exchanging it for ready money, and one day found myself penniless, through the treachery of one who professed to be my friend. I had not been allowed to learn his motives, and fraudulent designs, because, as I subsequently saw, my experience must be gained through toil and want, but when others were in danger of losing their material goods, I could readily discern their perils, and warn them.
“Since then, I have travelled years and years, following this light; when I did not, I have failed in my mission. I am not understood. This little village, to which seven years ago I found my way, has not a soul in it that knows me as anything but a 'Witch'-a diviner of events. I have sat in halls of splendor, and revealed strange things to men and women. I have visited the sick and down-trodden-and everywhere this power has gone with me, carrying comfort and light. I think my earthly mission is almost over. I seem to see a light, like the glimmer of a lamp which shines for a traveller to guide him home.”
She paused. The story was told. Margaret sat silent, too much occupied with her own deep thoughts, to look on the woman's face.
It was past midnight. The fire was out, on the hearth. A strange stillness pervaded the room. It grew oppressive. Margaret rose and went towards the old woman, who seemed to have dropped asleep. She took the withered hand in her own. It dropped lifeless. She was dead; the two whose lives had become as one by suffering, were parted. Sibyl had gone to that world where the erring are forgiven. Margaret was left to struggle on with an adverse fate, and thereby ripen for the kingdom.
The morning flooded through the narrow windows of the humble cot, and lit up the pale, dead features with a strange light. Margaret must leave. Though heeding the woman's words of warning, and resolving to avoid the stranger she had met, she saw but one course before her, and that was, to go to the city and seek refuge in some hospital, during her approaching need. She struggled with her feelings a long time at leaving the dead alone, and so irreverently, but circumstances were pressing her on; she could not do otherwise, and stepping out from the shelter, where her soul had been so deeply thrilled, she walked rapidly to the station, and sat with her veil closely drawn, awaiting the hour for the departure of the train. It came at last, though the time seemed very long to her, the more so, as she was in constant fear of being recognized, but fortunately no one saw her whom she knew.